The truth about our twins.

Blogworld, I feel like I haven't been honest, so we are going to have *that* talk.

(**awkward silence**)

Wow, I feel like that guy on the real world who *forgot* to disclose that he had done some work in the soft porn industry.  I didn't know that comparison was even possible.  Don't worry, I don't have a penis. 

But really, this disclosure is for my new friends.  You old readers are already acquainted with my real scars (this does not imply I once had a penis, fyi).  And thanks to yesterday's post, you are ALL familiar with my post-birthing rituals. 

Truth is, I didn't actually give birth to twins.  I had TRIPLETS. 

It's really funny to have to explain that, because it seemed for many, MANY years that it was our only identity.  The people who got pregnant with three babies, spent weeks on bedrest, delivered one pound preemies.  And survived the death of a son.

Now, we are the people who have four kids, of various ethnicity's.  It doesn't help that the 6-year-old Asian is the size of a three-year-old, and a five-year-old Irishman the size of a linebacker.  When strangers/new friends do the math in their heads, I'm pretty sure they factor in a blended family and an adoption and human growth injections. 

But NOT a child's death. 

To catch up to speed on our story, HERE IS A LINK to the post that I wrote when our surviving twins turned five.  It gives you a good dose of where we're coming from. 

We make the decision on whether to edit this part of our lives, everyday.  Every time we're asked how many children we have, every time we tell people about our twins.  It becomes like instinct, really, because there is no need to delve into that kind of heaviness for the purpose of a two-minute conversation.  We are ALWAYS protecting our audience.  But occasionally, we will realize months down the road, that some of our newer friends are missing a piece of the puzzle...and well, that's awkward to. 

This rarely happens, though, because Mike and I are VERY open about our son, Caleb.  For the sake of our other kids, but also because of who we really are.  We have, however, made the choice not to call our twins, "triplets", because that is a gigantic weight for 6-year-olds to carry and explain their whole lives.  They deserve to define themselves by Lego and sassiness and horribly uncoordinated Wii playing.  To them, the world is full of the same terrible rules designed to oppress every other grade schooler; only Mike and I will really know the miraculous measures taken on their behalf, and what it ACTUALLY cost to save their lives--in real dollars and in immeasurable grace. 

Yes, we have suffered great loss and I am so, SO thankful for the chance to parent my twins.  But WOW, they also drive us crazy with the whining and the playdoh-on-my-sofa-cushions, and such.  We don't walk in despair everyday, and we aren't easily offended, we don't cringe when triplets are mentioned.  We are scarred, but resilient and joyful; and both pieces are what make us complete.  It is simply the story we were made to tell, I suppose.

So glad we had this talk. 

Also.  You all might have guessed that I am a *bit* of a pack rat.  And today, as I have made my way through the bins labeld "childbirth", I came across this stack of letters.  Written by some of you who are reading this very post.  Sent to us following the birth of our triplets and the loss of Caleb.  I went through every. single. one this morning.  They are BEAUTIFUL to me.  If any of you ever debate sending a note of sympathy, or thanks, or encouragement, just know that these will be among my prized possessions until the day I die.  At which time these letters and 532 other boxes will be willingly pried from my hands.